The Tree House
by Harry Hippie
Summary: Snape is power hungry, Draco is fleeing, and Voldemort is dead. The magical world has a dire situation on its hands, and Draco discovers the home of a pair of hermits who don't know how important they are.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue:_

Hope was not lost. When Dumbledore died, it was a setback, a pain and ache, throbbing in the side of good. When Harry Potter died, it was a heavy blow, a stab in Light's back. But hope was not lost. People still fought. They gathered under their leaders, ready to stand up and become a hero if the Cause called for it. But so far, no outstanding heroes had come. Only a few people had become martyrs, their lives crystalized, revered, because they had died fighting, gone down with their wand in hand, throwing curses at the Dark Lord's masked warriors.

A hero was needed for the Light, a face for the Cause, a place to look up to, to model oneself after, and no one was fitting the bill. Those who had been worthy were not around anymore. Half of the Weasleys were dead. Bill, Percy, Charlie, and Arthur ahd all gone down in battles, trying to quell some "natural disaster" bought up by the Death Eaters, storming known hide outs, each of their deaths mourned more ferverently until Molly and Ginny were hovelled away in the woods of Ireland and Ron was holed up with the twins' beneath their store, coming out only in the day to tend shop or when he was needed for battle. Hermione had been taken away by force to be exploited in some dark place only Death Eaters and evil beasts dared to go. No one even looked for her out of fear.

Most of the Gryffindors that went to school with Harry were killed or being used by Evil for some terrible purpose. The few who survived lived half lives, coming out only during the day, under heavy protection. Some, like Neville Longbottom, had settled into the background, researching, making potions, thinking up useful new spells and counter curses. Neville actually used his herbology skills, making all sorts of potions (he had gotten better in that area after he was rid of Snape) and cross-breeding plants to create extremely useful medicinal products or poisions. More than a few Death Eaters had dropped dead due to one of his dried and powdered plants in their afternoon tea.

Muggles were a bit more aware that something strange and terribly frightening was happening. More than a few innocent Muggles had become vampires, werewolves, even empty vegetables without souls, having had them sucked away into the mouths of dementors. Towns were burned, some magical, some muggle. They were impartial, for the most part, so long as there was no fear of their own kind being killed. Evil did have a hero. Several. The Dark Lord, of course, was their idol, the god they worshipped. Even those training far away in the highest parts of Scotland would go silent at his name out of respect. Severus Snape was the ultimate hero, betraying good so completely that the Light limped in pain from the loss of the traitor. No one really liked him if they had met him, but they respected what he had done, and the close relationship he had with Voldemort. He lived like a hermit of sorts, brewing away in his laboratory, eating meals alone, scribbling on parchment all the time, if you ever did see him.

Lucius Malfoy had come back to evil as soon as he had caught the change in the winds. He had since slaughtered brutally all of those in the Ministry he had kissed up to when Voldemort fell, but not before cruelly torturing them, and, if they were pureblooded females, having them bred for heirs by others. His wife Narcissa joined him in the vile acts as it pleased her, but Draco preferred to admire at a distance, and simpy helped strategize before they attacked towns, killing and casting powerful spells for the disasters that riddled the United Kingdom. And it is with him the future of Evil lay.

---

Snape was ready for Draco to visit the Dark Lord. It was time for his plot to come into play. When Snape had realized that Voldemort was dying, he had decided that he wouldn't mind being his heir. And then he heard of what Voldemort planned, and it had nothing to do with his being the next Dark Lord. It had everything to do with another heir, an heir that Severus knew was unworthy, was not ready.

So, Severus Snape used his sharp and cunning mind to develop a plan, one so subtle that Lord Voldemort himself would not detect it. It involved a potion, a goblet, and a bit of candlelight.

---

Draco Malfoy was little more than an inbred brat, but he had hardened after a year of warfare. He was no longer the pale, petty boy. He was a man, having seen death, caused death, and having had no regret. His family was proud of him, of what he had done. Or what he was supposed to have done. No one but those who had witnessed it with their own eyes knew Snape had killed Dumbledore, and even a few eye witnesses refused to believe. Draco had been grateful to Snape, and was in his debt. To get out of that debt, he would have to do something drastic, for Severus had saved him from death at Voldemort's hand, or torture, perhaps if he was lucky. Not to mention being shunned and disowned by his family.

It was on one fateful Tuesday morning that this debt would be relieved, but at great cost. And on this morning, Draco woke up from a dream, a little sweaty from the heat wave passing through England over the past few weeks, since the ratty place Voldemort had chosen to stay in for a few weeks had no air or circulation system. Tempers, of course, had been flaring due to heat and trials a recent attack had caused. The whole place reeked of blood and vomit, making Draco ill and irritable, and the moans of wounded Death Eaters haunted the place day and night. Draco stripped of his night clothes, thankful for the small private chamber he had been given. Draco was in a position of great merit, having killed the only man Voldemort was said to have feared, and providing volumes of information and aid to an important attack, thus, he was given his own chamber, which was more than most got, which was a cot with up to ten other men in the same room. Draco had even heard of new Death Eaters being cramped with twenty others. It was a pity for them, but he had little guilt and sympathy for them. He went outside to the stream flowing down from the hill, where he washed up a bit, a reminder of the barbaric state he was forced to live in. But, a Malfoy could not very well go to see his Lord without first making sure his appearance was in best form. He was ready to visit the Dark Lord.

---

**Chapter One**

Draco meandered into the room. It was a hall, magicked into existence for its specific purpose of housing the Dark Lord's evil minions while he was plotting. It held a long table with twelve seats, six per side, and a throne of almost divine comfort at the head. Draco knew, because he had sat on it once, when no one else had been there. It was empty but for the frail, snake-like body of his lord, Voldemort. A thin, bony hand beckoned him weakly, and he stepped forward. His Lord Voldemort had told him many things. He had told him of his horcruxes, though not their forms, nor their hiding places. He had told him each time one was destroyed, and Draco had seen the effects, seen the pale complexion and weakness that followed every time Harry Potter had drawn himself a little closer to Voldemort and his inevitable death. Voldemort had told him about his dark magic, about his childhood, but only when the mood struck him. And Draco could tell that today, he was in that mood.

"Draco," Voldemort murmered in a raspy whisper, "I have something important to tell you." Draco stepped forward and waited while he took a sip of hot wine from his goblet. Draco didn't know how he could drink hot wine when he was about to scorch. Of course, he couldn't understand the heavy robes and blankets all over him, either. But Draco didn't ask, and Voldemort didn't tell. That was why the Dark Lord liked him so much. He didn't ask. "My last Horcrux has been destroyed. I felt it last night. It is gone. Now all that remains of me is what is here, dying in this wretched place." Voldemort paused, looked at his goblet, then continued on, talking desperately. "My time is soon to be over. You will take my place."

"What?" Draco asked, his mind boggled completely by what his master had just told him. "What did you say?"

"I don't have time to answer silly questions. You are to be my heir, the next dark lord. You will rein the kingdom I have built up from the muck and mire that was. Promise me that you will carry on with what I have been planning all of my life. Promise me now, before it is too late! Do it, boy!" The raspy voice had raised in volume as much as it could.

"I...I p-p-promise, m-master," Draco stuttered, nervous at Voldemort's words.

"Good. Good. Now run away, and mind the candle. Run!" Draco ran. Just as he exited the hall, a great explosion resounded, and Severus Snape came out of a door Draco had never seen before. He had no time to puzzle over this. He turned tail and began heading for the doors. Snape caught him by his collar and looked straight into his eyes.

"Why were you not with our lord just now? What happened? How did you escape before he died?" Snape asked. Draco felt sobs and tear of frustration and helplessness well up in him.

"I don't know! I just don't know!" he screamed, unsure of anything. Draco's master was dead, and he died after predicting his own death, virtually. Draco was worried, more than a little scared, and he had not forgotten that he was to be the Dark Lord's heir. That thought alone could have made him wet himself, but combined with the unknown nature of Voldemort's death, he was deathly scared. Severus let go of his collar and walked up to the doors of the hall. Draco felt like running up to him and telling him not to, but it was too late, and Snape had flung the doors wide before Draco had managed to move an inch. Behind those doors was a charred shell of a room, where the smell of scorched skin ruled, and smoke emitted from tiny flames that were popping everywhere. Snape smiled with satisfaction while Draco gasped behind him. He had not seen the smile. He was too intent on the former Tom Riddle's remains. A brilliant idea stuck Severus Snape so violently that he wondered why he had not thought of it before. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

"You've killed him, Draco! You've killed my lord! Ooooh, my lord, what did he do to you?" Snape moaned whilst patting himself on the back mentally for doing such a fine job in acting. "Draco, you must leave! You must leave now, before they kill you!" Snape cried with sudden compassion.

"Who? Why would they kill me!" Draco cried.

"You have murdered the Dark Lord, Draco. What would keep them from killing you? You must go. I will tell no one, if you leave! I promised your mother I would let no harm come to you, so no harm shall, but only if you go. Run. Leave, and never return," Snape told the boy, taking advantage of his fear. The boy looked at Snape, his mind racing, too confused to even think, to put together that it was not his fault. The evidence was there, but Draco was already running. He ran through the corridors to the nearest exit just before a pack of concerned Death Eaters came running to the hall. Draco was scrambling through brambles before they even knew their Lord was dead.

---

**One week later...**

---

Severus Snape conducted the memorial service for Lord Voldemort and Draco Malfoy. It was a large gathering. Every Death Eater had been made aware of his death within a day, and a date was set for the service the day after that.

"It is a great shame to lose one so young as Draco Malfoy. The boy had a full life ahead of him, for he was the heir to our Lord's throne. And it is even greater a shame to lose one so dear and vital to all of us as our Lord Voldemort. He began this conquest, and this is only the fuel we need to finish it. To honor his death, we must fight his battles, and take over his perfect ideals and make them reality. Who is with me in this effort!" A great cry rose up, and Severus Snape knew that he would be the new leader.

---

Draco had been wandering in the woods for a week. He was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. The water he had drunk was slimy and black, which he immediately vomitted back up. There were no berries or vegetables in the forest, which was a dense, black place, full of glowing eyes and things that go bump in the night. He had been able to get no sleep, and his eyes were bloodshot from the effort. His hair was a hopeless mass of sticky, greasy tangles, his robes torn to shreds clinging faithfully to him by his shoulders, his face red and tearstained. Draco Malfoy had never cried as much as he had in the past week. He felt death creeping up on him, slowly and steadily, as surely as Voldemort had seemed to be about his impending death. He was tired, so very tired. He lay down one the leafy ground, waxy pine needles poking him and bits of leaf tangling into his hair. But he knew he could not stay. So he got up again when he woke, hours later, when the sun was low. It would be a full moon soon, and he didn't want to be out when the werewolves came around. He began trudging, his stomach groaning in protest around its emptiness. But he had no food. He fell to the ground, and all went black. His last thought was about food, mountains of food, beautiful food.

---

The man walked up to the boy. He was old, with grey, frazzled hair that stuck out from beneath the cap he had made from bent branches and leaves. His eyes were pale and foggy from age. He wore clothes made from things in the forest, his old clothes having been lost, stolen, or worn out by the bramblier parts of the woods. He knew the boy, recognized his youthful face, pale and pained as it was, even in unconsiousness. He felt for a pulse on his neck, finding that one was there, and happily turned the boy over.

"Draco Malfoy. Knew you were coming. But why?" The man picked up the boy, heaving him up with the strength he had acquired through living in the woods and slung him carefully over his shoulder. He had no reason to worry over the boy, the traitor, but he was curious. Why was Draco Malfoy in the Forbidden Forest?

---

**A/N: **There it is. The first chappie. I actually know the beginning, middle, and end of this story for once. everyone cheers Thank you, thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

Draco awoke with a throb in his head, his mouth feeling as if it were full of sawdust, and a painful, empty ache in the pit of his stomach. He opened his eyes, which was a task, since they were coated with a crusty matter that he had to rub away before his eyelids became unstuck. It wasn't pleasant. In fact, it made him want to wretch. But he refrained. What he saw around him awed him out of his need to be sick. It was a cottage, small in length and width, but when you looked up, you saw a spiraling staircase that went up and up onto different levels, each smaller than the next, but adding up to quite a bit of area if you took the time to calculate it. The place was shaped like a cone, in a way, a circle getting smaller and smaller the higher up it went. The whole place looked as if it had been carved from a single solid chunk of wood, which wasn't far from the truth. Draco suddenly heard a scuffling in the corner of the room and saw a man. He had fuzzy grey hair and wore the most uncivilized clothes Draco had ever seen.

"Are you hungry, Master Malfoy?" the man asked. And then, it registered. Ollivander. The old coot who made wands. He had disappeared some time back and no one knew where he had gone, not even Voldemort. He had been here all along. Draco just didn't know exactly where 'here' was. His stomach groaned, and he knew the old man had heard it, too. "Yes, I suppose you are. I'll just go get some tea," the old coot said, looking at Draco with his strange milky eyes. He left Draco to lay on...Well, Draco didn't rightly know wht it was that he was lying on. He looked at it and was surprised to see a net of rope covered by a few roughly made blankets. Resettling in the bed, he looked up and saw that the shelter, whatever it was, went up and up, platforms lining the walls and stairs leading to each platform. It was amazing. Green light filtered through the windows, the magical light of forests and wilderness. The old man shuffled back into the room holding a rough wooden tray with a carved tea set. Draco was amazed at how much in the house was made of wood and leaves. Ollivander, it appeared, lived like an elf.

"Where is this place?" Draco asked as he sipped the tea. Willowbark tea. Go figure.

"Well, I would say that is about four miles from the Hogwarts edge of the Forbidden Forest, just outside the Hogwarts security boundary. Of course, what Hogwarts is and why they have a security we may never know, right, cookie?" he answered, directing the last statemet to the platform just above them. Draco was shocked. What was going on? Since when did Ollivander not know what Hogwarts was? And who was this "cookie" that he was referring to? Did Ollivander have a lover? The idea was laughable. The idea suddenly became even more improbable when he saw the beautiful, shapely legs climbing down the ladder that led straight down to Draco and Ollivander's level. The legs led to a waist clad in what looked like fur and the remains of something made of black fabric, a full bust, a bronze, slender neck. Draco was very pleased with what he saw until he looked at the woman's face.

- - - -

A/N: Who is the woman? Why is he not pleased with her face? These burning questions will be answered in the third installment of **The Tree House**.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"What in the hell are you doing here, Granger!" Draco asked, shocked, sitting up abrubtly, spilling tea down his front, then shouting in pain from the scalding liquid.

"Who's 'Granger'?" Hermione asked, genuine puzzlement etched across her face.

"Oh, as if you didn't know," Draco retorted, but his conviction was shaken by the look of confusion on her face.

"But, I don't," she said, looking a little hurt and even more confused. "My name is Slave, and this is Master," she articulated, wrapping a lean, bolden arm around Ollivander's, looking at him as if he were a god. Draco's mind reeled. He was so confused.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything." The confusion left Hermione's, or "Slave", face and pleasure took its place. She went out of his line of vision behind a fine curtain of rope webs and leaves, and she reentered the room with a large bowl, made of wood, of course, and filled with water. It was then he noticed the metal cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Apparently the name Slave was accurate.

"Let's get washed up, shall we?" she sang, pulling a rag out of the water, squeezing it until it didn't drip anymore, and in one quick movement, was wiping the crusty, dry matter off of his face and out of his eyes. Draco didn't bother to fight back. He just tried to process this information that had just been unknowingly given to him. Apparently, Ollivander and Hermione had been mind-wiped, put in the middle of the Forbbiden Forest, and given just enough information so they owuldn't ask questions and wake up their memories. Draco wanted to laugh aloud at the wonderfully sinister heirarchy some clever Death Eater, maybe even Voldemort himself, had dreamed up. Keep the two most intelligent magical people in England innocent as babies in the middle of the forest that no one wanted to go into. It was genius, really. A laugh lodged itself in his throat.

"How did you know my name, er, _Master_?" Draco asked, almost laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

"We were sent a message telling us you were coming from the Ultimate Master." The man said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Draco assumed this "Ultimate Master" was the Death Eater that had created this ingenius situation or Lord Voldemort. He was bustling around, cleaning up the spilled tea and taking the tray away, though Draco hadn't gotten the oppurtunity to eat any of the food on the plate. A sense of loss swept through him as the tray left the room. His stomach roared in frustration.

"Master, I think he wants to keep the tray," Hermione said, and Ollivander bought it back. The food would have looked horribly unappetizing if Draco hadn't been starving, almost to the point of death, but he was starving, and he ate the food eagerly and wihout complaint. But, unfortunately, he ate it too fast, and a few minutes after Ollivander carried away the tray, Draco turned green and Hermione had to use the water bowl to catch his vomit.

"Uuuhnn," Draco groaned, laying back on the rope bed.

"Well, that's what you get for eating too fast," Hermione reprimanded, handing Draco a rough mug of the bitter willowbark tea and a small bowl of broth. Draco looked at the cuffs on her wrists. They had obviously been there a long time, healed scars showing where they had rubbed raw and calloused on the tender flesh of her wrists. He remembered how attracted to her he had felt sa she came down the ladder and blushed. How could he not have recognized her? It seemed so obvious now. But she looked like she had lost some weight, replaced a bookworm's flab with a wild woman's muscle. And her hair was knotted and bigger than ever, full of leaves and twigs. She looked like a female Tarzan.

"How did you get here?" Draco asked. Slave was not surprised by the question. She had been watching him watching her, looking at her irons and her legs. But, for some reason she didn't understand, she liked that he was dragging his eyes up and down her. Feeling as if she had done something wrong, she looked away, turning to the window to empty out the water bowl.

"I don't know. I think I've always been here, though I don't remember anything but waking up here one morning and finding Master beside me. It was the most natural thing in the world, and I felt very much at home," Slave answered shyly. The "Draco" made her feel flustered and strange.

"What do you do out here?" Draco asked, curious to no end about these two hermits.

"Well, Master makes wands. I don't really know why he needs so many, but the Ultimate Master comes and takes them to the place where he lives. I keep the books up there," Slave pointed to the highest platform, "For the Ultimate Master and he lets me read them as long as I keep them in order. That's my favorite part."

"It would be," Draco mumbled under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. What does the Ultimate Master look like, anyway?" Draco continued, trying to hide his burning curiousity.

"Well," Slave said, sitting on a wooden stool next to Draco's cot/hammock. "He's tall, and slim, with black hair and black eyes. And he has a rather unbecoming nose. He always seems angry at me, though I don't know why, but I don't complain, because if I do he might take the books away. They really are wonderful books, full of potions and spells and stories about wizards and witches. Most of them are potion books, but I like them, so I read them, even if they do get to be a bit dull. Would you like to see?" She was flushed with excitement and anticipation at being able to show this stranger her pride and joy. _Just like Hermione Granger, thingking everyone is as interested in potions books as she is_, Draco thought.

"No, I'm feeling a little ill. Maybe later." _Not._ Draco didn't have any desire to see those books, and he had a fairly good idea of who they belonged to. It was funny that Snape made Granger and Ollivander call him Ultimate Master when they both could better him in at least one thing magical. But then again, he was a powerful Legilimens, and that was one of the greatest magical powers a wizard could have. Neither one off them was even half as advanced as Snape in that facet. So perhaps Ultimate Master was accurate.

The information Slave had just given him might be useful. If Snape came on a regular basis to check up on them, he would be able to bring Draco up to date on the goings on, tell him how angry all the Death Eaters were, tell him if it was safe to return. Draco had let his mind turn to going back, but he knew he wanted to, even if the little hell hole Voldemort had chosen was miserable, and even if the only people there were cruel and vindictive, it was the only thing he had ever known, and he wanted to go back to it. But for now, he was lost, and he had to be careful not to awaken the dusty memories of these two hermits. They didn't know what damage they could place on his side.

- - - -

Slave left the room as soon as the visitor fell asleep. Some sort of strange feeling overwhelmed her. It was a feeling that embarrassed and shamed her, but made her want to be near that Draco all the time, made her long for his hands on her. It was the first time she had ever wished the shackles were gone so she could be free to touch someone other than Maste rand Ultimate Master. The first time she had wished to be free.

Master came down the stairs to the platform that held her bed and belongings. His misty eyes seemed to look right into her emotions and seek out the one she was feeling.

"You like the boy, then?" he said, not really wanting an answer to that question. Slave nodded anyway. Master took a strand of her bushy, tangled hair into his gnarled old hand. "He's a very fortunate lad, then, to have such a beautiful girl to like him. Would you like to help me gather wood?" Slave grabbed at the chance to go outdoors, such a rare oppurtunity, and ran to get the chains and collar. As Master fastened them in place, she thought about the confusing feelings she was having. She liked him, she knew she did, but something told her she shouldn't, that he wasn't for her. "Ready?" Master asked, hooking the chain to his belt.

"Yes," Slave answered, going down the steps eagerly, two at a time, slowing only when the chain pulled tight on her neck, telling her that Master needed a moment to get his creaky bones down. When they reached the bottom, Master reached over and put matching cufs on Draco's wrists and ankles, chaining him to the bed.

"The Ultimate Master wants him to stay with us for a while. I can't let him slip away while we're gathering wood," Master explained. It made perfect sense to Slave, who nodded and bounced out the door, happy as a school girl with a pound for candy.

- - - -

A/N: Interesting, isn't it? I'm enjoying it immensely. Let's see what happens next! I realize that a pound would buy a lot of candy, or maybe very little, I don't know, but I'm not overly familiar with the British monetary system, so you'll have to bear with me. Thought I'd get this chapter to you quick, since I usually forget what's so exciting about a revelation if I don't read immediately/


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Slave loved the outdoors almost as much as she loved books. The way the light filtered throught the leaves, the way the ground was covered in layer after layer of dead leaves, and beneath that, dark green, fuzzy moss that felt like carpet. It was better than any magic, and it was like a spell, all at the same time. Master led her along, tapping trees with his knuckles, muttering about what he needed. He took wood from trees to make the beautiful wands, the wands that Slave wasn't allowed to touch. She climbed up the trees for him and skimmed off ideal chunks from the tender, vulnerable white flesh that lay behind the rough bark.

Master held out tree lice to offer the belligerent bowtruckles as she climbed, secretly enjoying the sight of her slim legs and firm behind as any man from eight to 98 would. He knew what a prize the girl was, and loved her as much as any man could. She was so kind and innocent, kept that way by the Ultimate Master, who owned their minds as much as their bodies. Master didn't mind that, though. He was doing what he loved, making wands, and she was doing what she loved, reading books, so they were content with their private, lonely lives. Master was glad Slave liked the boy. She hadn't ever seen a boy that she knew of, the closest her memory came to it was Ultimate Master, and he was no boy, so of course she liked this nearly perfect specimen of a young man. That was inevitable.

- - - -

Severus Snape looked into the mirror, a small hand mirror, and laughed. He loved the power he had, and the powerlessness of Draco, locked away to a wooden bed in a tree house, hoping he would come and tell him that everything was alright, it was safe to return. The mirror showed Snape the dark interior of the primative house, where he now kept two geniuses imprisoned in their own minds and one heir imprisoned by his own body. He had no plans to see Draco, to tell him that no one blamed him for Voldemort's terrible death, which was the truth, to tell Draco that they thought he was dead and the Death Eaters would rejoice his coming. He would simply wait until the right moment to tell Draco a lie, keeping him with those half-useless worms he kept in a tree. Laughter burbled up in his throat and he released a deep, threatening cackle, sending the few Death Eaters around him scuttling elsewhere.

- - - -

Draco woke to the empty room. It was geting dark, and the room was filled with a half-hearted afternoon glow. He tried to get up, but, looking down, he saw manacles, matching exactly Hermione's. _Terrific_, Draco couldn't help himself from thinking. The day just got better and better. After a few minutes of waiting in the increasing dark, Hermione and the old coot walked in, arms full of wood wrapped in rough cloth. They lay the wood down by the door and Hermione walked over to Draco.

"Are you hungry? I was planning on whipping something up for tea. Would you like anything in particular?" Slave asked.

"No, I'd like to shove these manacles right up--"

"Mr. Malfoy, manners, manners. Go along, Slave," Master interrupted. Slave walked up the stairs abashedly, her chains clanking irrately as she walked up to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. "Now, Draco, my boy, you mustn't talk that way around Slave. She is a very dear girl, very innocent, as it were, and I would prefer she stay in such a state. Now, do you promise to be civil?" Draco glared at the old man and gave a very unconvincing nod. "Honestly, boy, you are so ornery, I won't be surprise when one of us knocks you silly one day. I should leave you chained up here for a week, and see if your disposition changes," the old man said as he unlocked the chains. "Now, you have a while to look about if you like, before tea time, but don't eve try to go past the big tree outside, or you'll get a nasty shock, and the last thing I need is a half-dead boy on my hands." With that, the old man dragged his creaky bones up the stairs and left Draco to his explorations. Outside was exactly as you might expect a forest to be. The trees had been thinned a bit around the house, but other than that, there was nothing extraordinary. It was the house itself that was the spectacle. The house was actually a hollowed out tree, held up and kept unrotten by magic. The tree was at least ten meters diameter, and so tall Draco could barely see the top. Seeign nothing else of interest, he reentered the tree house.

Inside, there were six platforms, an attic of sorts, and the common, or ground, level that opened out to the outside. The first three platforms were curtained away from the prying eye, the fourth was the wand making room, full of wood, little cupboards full of wand cores, and carving tools. The fifth was the kitchen, where Hermione hummed by the stove, and the final platform was the dusty old library. There was a line hanging from the ceiling of the library that allowed the door to open and the ladder to fall down. Draco climbed this ladder and peeked around, but only saw a few half-rotten books that had bad bindings and broken wands, the stuff Master and Slave refused to throw away but didn't want to keep.

- - - -

Slave watched the soup simmer and the water boil, her mood matching. She was only trying to be kind to the boy, and he had been rude to her for no reason. But she might have been even more angry at Master for stopping him from saying what he was about to say. She threw the willow bark violently into the water, burning her hand on the scorching pot.

_No, I'd like to shove these manacles right up-- _what? What did he want to shove the manacles right up? She put her hand in her mouth. For as long as she could remember (which was not very long at all, admittedly) Master had been keeping away information. Of course she was full of all sorts of information, but he kept her innocent of a certain kind of information, the very things she longs to know, to be as fluent in them as she was in the ingredients it took to make Veritaserum. What did Draco Malfoy want to shove those manacles up?

The memory of Master taking her out to get unicorn hair came to her. He said that it was much easier to get unicorn hair from the actual unicorn if you had a maiden with you. When Slave had asked about maidens, Master had blushed and said some things weren't meant to be spoken about in mixed company. This memory frustrated her to no end. She knew about the powers of unicorn hair, and the things that made unicorns come to you, a maiden being one, but she didn't understand what it took to be a maiden, why she was one, and who else was one.

Perhaps this new Draco Malfoy would tell her the things she wanted to know...The thought cheered her considerably, and set her to humming as she watched the soup simmer and the water boil.

- - - -

"Supper!" Hermione called lightly, drawing the old man and the young boy to the table. All three were consumed in their own thoughts, and none noticed the silence of the room, broken by the scrape of spoon against bowl only.

- - - -

A/N: I'll just clarify the layout of the tree house for you right quick, in case you were confused or curious.

storage/attic

library

kitchen

wand making room

Master's bedroom

Slave's bedroom

Draco's future bedroom

common/ground level

There. That's from the top down. I am very tired, so don't insult the crude manner in which I laid this out. Sorry for any errors. Alert them to me if they are glaringly obvious or crucial to the plot or parallelism in my story. Don't be afraid to R&R.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Severus Snape raged. He seethed. He bristled. This was too much. Death Eaters were running about, slaughtering everyone, everything. When, he wondered, had he given them permission to do this? They didn't take him seriously as a leader. They thought he was a big joke. But he would have to change that. Severus would just have to put his foot down, grip a little tighter. Squash the rebellion, no matter what. If this was going to work, he would be the one to make it work. He walked into the main hall where his beautiful throne sat, and swooped in, killing a Death Eater as he went. If they wanted a real leader, he would be one. He had tried the kinder, gentler Severus Snape. It hadn't worked, so a new method was in order. No more free will amongst the Death Eaters. The only attacks that would be allowed were the ones he approved of.

No more Mr. Nice Guy.

- - - -

Draco woke with a start. Some bad dream leapt from his mind before he thought to remember it, and he crawled out of the bed. His back was sore, and he finally remembered where he was. The room was shaped like a semi-circle, with a curtain as one wall and wood as the other. With no other clothes, he figured that he would have to wear the rumpled and torn robe that he had been wearing for more than a week now. That was agitating, since he was very keen on being clean, and this robe was an utter disaster, once a beautiful, green and black robe, so becoming on him, cut perfectly for his figure. Now it was just faithful shreds and wrinkled patches.

With a sigh, Draco got up stiffly and climbed the stairs. One flight up, the careful curtain hung, like a shield, obstructing Draco's view of the platform behind it. It irritated him that he didn't know what was in that room, so he decided to oh-so-carefully pull back the curtain.

The room was a semicircle, like his own, with the rope cot, only it had a quilt stiched of scraps of fabric over it, and a trunk, open to reveal the scant belongings therein. But this was not what caught his eye. It was Hermione Granger, standing by the window. She was naked from the waist up, but he saw nothing but the bronze, muscular back and the slightest curve of her breast beneath her raised arm. She was washing from a bowl that stood on the window ledge, which was apparently meant to be a seat and table, as well as a ledge. He had never noticed how delicate her nose was, how huge her eyes, brown and soft, like velvet, how full and curved her lips were. Her body was framed in light, making her look like a sensual, curvy angel.

_So incredibly beautiful_, Draco thought before jerking himself out of his reverie. How utterly ridiculous! She was a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake, a worthless piece of scum. He pulled his head out of the curtain and began trudging up the stairs again. It was a ludicrous thought, for him to like some lucky piece of scum from the bottom of the muggle gene pool. _ But_, he admitted to himself, _she is sexy. No one ever said a Mudblood couldn't be sexy._ Perhaps some pleasure could be derived from this unpleasant situation. Perhaps he could woo the girl, make her think he loved her, then take wonderful, lusty, passionate advantage of her. Thoughts filled his mind until he felt a stir of interest.

_Now, now, this will never do_, Draco thought. He couldn't be getting aroused by thought alone, this early, before he had the girl melting under his well-trained fingertips. He grinned as he entered the kitchen and sat down.

- - - -

As soon as Slave finished washing, she pulled one of her two outfits over her bare body and went to the kitchen. There he was, his blonde hair greasy from a week of not having been washed, his clothes in horrid shape from walking in a forest for an extended amount of time, yet she still felt that pull from the core of her being, the flush and heat. She tried to overcome the feelings as she kindled the fire and set about putting on a pot of water for tea on the burner.

"Do you do all of the cooking?" he asked. She wanted to slap him. The emotion shocked her. She had never wanted to strike out at a person. But she really didn't want to talk to him in the flustered state she was in.

Curtly, she said, "Yes," then bustled about, trying to cut the conversation. But he seemed determined.

"Why? Can't _Master_ cook?" The sarcasm he used in saying Master's name disturbed her. Why did he say it like that? What was so offending about it?

"I don't want him to have to work too much. He already does so much for me, that it's the least I can do is cook and clean for him. He's so kind to me," Slave said, tenderness leaking through her anger at Draco. Familiarity was somehow present in the heated banter, though Slave couldn't place why.

"How is he kind to you? Letting you live with him in a house someone else made? Making you cook meals for him, clean up all his junk? Is that kindness?" Slave felt confused and unsure. What was he trying to do? She didn't answer, turning back to her cooking. Draco decided this wasn't the proper approach. "So...What do you do around here other than cook and clean? Surely that can't take all day."

"It doesn't," Slave answered curtly, not bothering with politeness. "I do what ever Master wishes me do, or I take care of the books."

"Do you do _everything_ the master tells you to do?" She didn't like his smirking emphasis on the word everything. Again, she refused to answer and payed a bit more attention to the quail eggs frying on the stove. Draco sighed in frustration. This was not how he had planned to seduce her. _Get back on track, Draco_, he urged himself. Standing, he walked right up behind Slave, letting his chest brushe her back _just_ so. "What are you cooking?" he whispered huskily in her ear. He felt her stiffen and start to quiver. She didn't answer.

Slave didn't know what to do. Her entire being seemed focused on the place where his chest touched her back. She felt like her insides were melting and that soon her outsides would follow if he didn't move. The urge to get away fought with the urge to push closer. Her mind flashed and bounced, unable to do anything but explode with his closeness. Finally she swayed a bit on her feet and her back fell closer to his chest just slightly.

Draco felt attraction stirring his loins. But he couldn't move too quickly. She obviously was attracted to him, but then, how could she help it? He needed to make her become hopelessly enamored bafore he took her, take her mind before he took her body. He would seduce the ice queen Hermione Granger, conquer over her in the most unexpected way, but it was the fact that he would conquer her that made him back away. She wouldn't know about the grudge he held against her, at least not at the moment. Remembering, he thought back to the time she had slugged him. It strengthened his resolve as he took another step back, leaving Slave wanting more than a brush against the back.

- - - -

"Is there any place to take a bath around here?" Draco asked, wiping a piece of egg off of the fine, blonde stubble that had grown since he last shaved. Embarrasingly enough, the only reason he kept so cleanly shaved all the time was because his facial hair grew in unflattering patches. A wimpy mustache and spotty beard was the last thing he needed.

"Yes, we usually bathe in the pond. Slave will show you the way. I don't have the time to. Don't forget the manacles, though, or you won't go far. Never mind. I'll put them on you in a moment," Master said, getting up from the table and going to the place where they stored the manacles. When he came back, he found Slave scrubbing things furiously and Draco chuckling over a cup of tea. Slave looked livid, Draco pervertedly delighted. Master didn't ask. He put the manacles on Slave's neck, ankles, wrists, linking them with a chain.

When the old man hobbled over to Draco, he felt memories flowing through him. Memories of his initiation into the Dark Side. Pain, chains, whips, knives. He decided not to dwell on those particular memories at the moment, choosing something a bit more cheerful, like getting into Hermione's pants...or dress made of fur and torn robes. It made no difference. The manacles came together with a decisive _click_, and Draco was bound by chains and cuffs, like a common slave. He didn't say a word, but his mouth was set in a thin line, and Slave took in his look of agrivation and even...fear? Surely not. Draco seemed to proud and vain to be afraid...Yet, something told her she had seen him afraid before. She shook the thought. That was ridiculous. She had known him for less than two days. Slave turned back to her dishes, hoping to get them done before she had to show Draco to the pond.

As Hermione led him down to the pond, Draco almost laughed at the fun he could have with the girl at this pond. Ollivander had given him a little bag with a towel, bar of soap, and old-fashioned razor that he was likely to cut himself on at least ten times, probably the only bits of civilization in the whole house. The cuffs were irratating him, rubbing the skin around them uncomfortably. He would probably have places rubbed raw before the end. Hermione seemed to barely notice them, but she had grown used to them a while ago. The pond was about a hundred meters from the house, more of a dammed creek than a pond, clear from the constant flow of fresh water from the small tributary. And then a problem arose.

"Er...Slave?" She turned to him. "How am I supposed to get my robes off with manacles on?" Hermione blushed, but walked a bit closer, puzzling over the problem.

"Well, we could go back to Master and you could get him to take off the cuffs and let you undress, then put them back on," she said logically, the same little know-it-all, but without the same memory.

"That seems like quite a bit of trouble," he said, leveling his face to be inches from hers, "when you could just take them off for me." At the suggestion, Slave turned a little red. "After all," he reasoned, pulling away from her. She felt as if she had lost something. "They are practically worthless now anyway. I'll just have to find something else to wear, which I would have to do anyway. So go ahead." He unfastened the robe and lowered it off his shoulders, revealing a pale, muscular back. Slave shuddered. "Rip it off." She took the shredded robe in her hands and pulled as he leaned forward, struggling to stay on his feet. With a loud _riiiiip_, the sleeves split, the robe fell away, and Slave landed, hard, on her bottom. Suddenly, a tall, half-naked Draco stood in front of her, black underpants the only thing sheilding her from his naked body. He offered a large, strong hand, and suddenly she was standing.

"I-I-I...I'll be going to the garden now. We need fresh vegetables for lunch..." He grabbed her by the arm, preventing her from fleeing his half-naked form.

"Stay," he said with such a vulnerable, innocent tone that Slave almost melted. "I mean, I want to see the garden, too, and you'll have to take me there, so...stay." Draco could see the innocent tone working on her. She fell hook, line, and sinker.

"Alright, but only if you promise to help me with the vegetables," she said, caving to his cleverly disguised trap.

"Of course," he conceded, then turned, put the back of toilletries by the edge of the pond, and promptly turned. Slave emmitted a gasp and Draco remembered too late...his back. He turned, trying to read her expression.

"What happened to you?" she asked, concern and curiosity etched across her face. Draco was surprised. The few people who had seen his back, mainly a girl or two and a few Death Eaters, had only ever been disgusted. He guessed it might look better, now that it had healed for a few years. It was the whip lines, the scars of a past torture, that covered his back in dark lines. It had been a magical whip, his wounds not healing for more than a year, causing him constant pain all of his sixth year...That was the worst year of his life, guilt, worry, and shame ate at his mind while whips and knives ate at his body. The base of his skull tingled sharply. These scars, he knew, weren't the pink lines that such scars normally were. They were great, red ridges covering all of the skin on his back. He doubted if there was a square centimeter that didn't have an angry red line across it. Suddenly he could barely see clearly.

_The night was dark, green lanterns illuminating the graveyard spookily, letting off a pathetic amount of light, just enough to see the dark forms of the grave markers. Draco was strung between two mausoleums, Voldemort and the few Death Eaters who had shown up, including his father, standing in a half circle around him. His aunt Bellatrix held the glittering green whip, made especially by her for occaisons such as these. After all, it wasn't everyday you got to whip your own nephew senseless to rabidly test his loyalty. _

_"You may start,"the creaky voice of Voldemort said, a near whisper, just loud enough to allow Draco to braco himself before Bellatrix wound up and struck with the most strength her small frame would allow, which was a surprising amount. But maybe not _that_ surprising. Draco didn't let so much as a gasp to pass his clenched teeth. Again, and again, until he was on the edge of conciousness with the pain. "Stop!" came the cry. It could have been mistaken for mercy if not for the fact that he called for an awakening spell be cast on Draco. _

_A tap on the head with a wand, and Draco felt as if ice water were running through his veins, but the feeling was soon overcome with the slow, painful pull of a knife on his back. His own father was dragging a knife over his son's back, breaking skin and vein, drawing blood and pain. Draco refused to cry out._

_"Who are you loyal to, Draco?"_

_"My lord, I am loyal to you only," Draco managed to gasp out between painful breaths. The knife kept going down to the base of his back, then stopped and started another painful journey at the top of his back. Seven times. The perfect number._

_"Who are you loyal to, Draco?"_

_"Draco?"_

"Draco? Are you alright? You sort of... zoned out, I guess. Are you alright?" Slave repeated. Draco knocked himself free of the flashback.

"I'm fine," he insisted, trying to get his mind back to the beautiful Mudblood instead of the wretched half blood. He didn't know what had just happened, and he didn't care to. He forced his mind to the task at hand.

"What happened to you, Draco? Why do you have all of these?" She turned him around and ran a hand gently over the ridges. It amazed her how new they looked. "These aren't very old, are they?"

"Too many questions. I need to take a bath." The boy slogged into the water, running the soap over his body, thinking. The bath had been a disaster. Now she would feel all maternal to him, and that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a lover, not a mother. His mind ws set not to tell her anything about it, not to make her pity him. He dragged the razor over his ceeks without a mirror, feeling his face to make sure he didn't miss a spot. Nicks dotted his cheeks here and there from the old razor that he wasn't used to. When he came out of the water, Slave sat by a bush, pulling at leaves.

"Ready?" he asked, half naked, clean, and divine. Slave prevented herself from gasping. He was beautiful. The pale, smooth flesh of his chest, the clean, slick hair, the strong legs, rippling muscles and flawless skin. _Calm down, calm down! Just breathe. Goodness, what has gotten into me?_

"Yes," she said, clearing her throat. She led him to the garden, on the other side of the house, behind a small shed.

"What's in there?" Draco asked, nodding to the ramshackle shack.

"That used to be Master's home, before I came. The Ultimate Master built the tree house for us. Now we just keep garden tools in there. Would you like to look?" she offered.

"Sure." He had all the time in the world, and he might as well know where everything was. Maybe this place would be a good place for rendezvous. The thought made the chill of the strange flashback go away and filled him with a renewed sense of mission. He _would_ get into Hermione Granger's pants.

- - - -

**A/N:** There it is. I hope you liked it. I'm getting kind of sick of having, like, three reviews. I mean, I love this story, and I'm working really hard on it, and I feel a little under-appreciated.(I don't think there is supposed to be a hyphen there, but it looked overdone without it.) Surely some good writers out there can sypathize. I feel like crying. :-(


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